It’s almost November, and I just realized that it’s quite near NaNoWriMo time. You know, that thing where everyone tries to write a novel in the span of one month, and brag to everyone on the internet and everyone within hearing distance that they’ve written a novel. You see, I haven’t participated in NaNoWriMo because of one small insignificant factoid: I CAN’T FUCKING WRITE. Seriously.
But this year I think I wanna join NaNoWriMo and make up something, anything. But my last good idea for a novel was conceptualized a little over three years ago. It involved a flying raccoon (named “Rocky”) and an evil overweight guy with plans of world domination via a gigantic vibrating drill that will burrow its way into the earth’s core and rescue the devil from eternal imprisonment. The drill is powered by the fat guy’s prisoners, doomed to run on treadmills for all eternity. I’ve dreamed of the story to end with gigantic explosions, flying squids, and cats jumping all over the place. And the novel will close with the raccoon riding into the sunset, surrounded by five bikini-clad hot women. And they’ll end up having an orgy. Awesome, right?
Sadly, I haven’t started on this story because whenever I start to tell people about my grand plans for this world-shattering epic, I get raised eyebrows and lots of “WTF?” along with “Whatever you’ve been smoking, Ade, you better not take it anymore.” Read More
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